


Fading Away

by LyriumNightmare



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Minor Plot Spoiler (specified in notes), Songfic, Sort of What If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24844984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyriumNightmare/pseuds/LyriumNightmare
Summary: «He just wanted to close his eyelids and wake up like he did every morning, with his mother’s kind smile upon a forehead kiss. He wanted to get up and run to his brother, to bother his dreams and jump under his blankets while he complained that “Verge, you are cold!”. Mom would always reach them after a while, telling them breakfast was ready. They would eventually calm down and follow her, hands in hands like they always did.But instead, the only thingVergehad in his hand at that moment was the frozen hilt of a weapon.»
Kudos: 4





	Fading Away

**Author's Note:**

> **MINOR SPOILER WARNING for what happens if you defeat Urizen at the beginning of DMC5.**  
>  The song used is " _Crimson Cloud_ " by Rachel Fannan, all rights and credits go to them.   
>   
> \--  
>   
> A "partner" is also mentioned almost at the end and I purposely choose to not identify them - so be my guest and let your imagination guide you! (.❛ ᴗ ❛.) 

S _avior! Bloodstain! Hellfire! Shadow!_ _  
Heaven on a landslide!  
Savior! Bloodstain! Hellfire! Shadow!  
Heaven on a landslide!  
_  
  
  
An explosion, new debris violently shot in the air.  
Vergil could not tell what was happening, he couldn’t think about anything else but running towards home.  
Grass was burnt in the familiar fields, incinerating under his feet and ashes flying away and around him like rain. The air was full of smoke and the boy was almost struggling for air at the spreading, intolerable heat. It drained his throat full of tears and repressed screams, filling his lung with sulphur and dust.  
  
Those demons appeared from nowhere all of a sudden and made him escape from the park he was playing in, back to the burning home.  
Without even thinking Vergil began to look for his mother and brother, calling and crying their names, letting his voice be covered by more unknown crashes. He managed to dodge a falling beam just in time, the air pressing the heart inside his chest.  
He was so scared and neither mom nor Dante answered his calls. He couldn’t even manage to think why all of that was happening and where the other demons were gone, why they were not chasing him anymore.  
All he could think about was his family.  
He even began to scream his father’s name, although he did know it was useless to begin with. Nobody could hear him in that hell.  
A closet slammed against the floor blocking his path, making Vergil jump from fear. It was burnt in more parts and slowly falling apart, the white varnish evaporating into a terrible smell of petrol and scorched corpses. That sight made him suffocate a sob, gulping air – a sound from afar starting to reach his ears without the boy even listening to it.  
  
Yamato, the sword father gave him, protected him back in the park. It appeared in his hands when he could not bear to keep his eyes open anymore and was pushed into a claustrophobic angle, between a slide and a crumbling tree. Fear made the boy move without thinking, waving the blade and letting it sink into enemies’ bodies. The sound of ripped flesh twisted his guts so much he almost threw up, but had no time to. New monsters were coming for him.  
He had to run. Run. Run. Run.  
  
  
  
B _rothers in the dark, fight for your life!_ _  
Devils in the dark, fight for your life!  
Fight for your life! Fight for your life_!  
  
  
  
At that moment, even if Yamato was still in his hand, even if new predators wanted to eat him alive, Vergil could do nothing but keep searching, his limbs with less and less strenght left to offer.  
  
He just wanted to close his eyelids and wake up like he did every morning, with his mother’s kind smile upon a forehead kiss. He wanted to get up and run to his brother, to bother his dreams and jump under his blankets while he complained that “Verge, you are cold!”. Mom would always reach them after a while, telling them breakfast was ready. They would eventually calm down and follow her, hands in hands like they always did.  
  
But instead, the only thing _Verge_ had in his hand at that moment was the frozen hilt of a weapon – the more familiar object he could find.  
  
He fell on his knees as tears began to roll down his cheeks, retiring against the wall. His breath was short and his sight was blurred, mind losing focus.  
Maybe mom chose to save Dante and run away with him. He didn’t find any corpse in his way, not even in his flaming surroundings. He was not even sure he wanted to check the other rooms.  
He was alone and nobody could save him, nor anyone did choose to do so. Mother didn’t come searching for him and he didn’t hear her screams or his brother’s.  
He was alone, and he would be dead soon because he was not strong enough to protect himself or anyone else. Not mother … Not father … Not Dante.  
The child finally closed his eyes, thinking that maybe his life was not that worthy, after all. He was tired and didn’t want to fight, run or think. He just wanted a warm hug – and fire was still there to offer it to him, gently pressing its invisible hands on his mouth, to block the air from passing. Even the sound of the collapsing building didn’t bother him that much anymore.  
Not even … The growls of the demons coming for his life.  
  
  
  
“Savior! Bloodstain! Hellfire! Shad̄̎͏͈͖͚̲̝o̶͖͉͉̪̣͕ͭw̫̜̩ͩ͆͢!  
H̙͖͓̯̘͆̕ͅẽ͆ͦ͏̠͙̤̰̺͔̞a̞̘͎̮͈̣ͨ̍̓͐͘v̛̪͚̖̟̤͍̜͊̃e̷͓̫ͣṅ̡̝͚̟̹̝̯̲̲̂ͯ ̡͓̗̜̦͖͇̋o̜̭̻̥͓͐͛̾͋͝n̩̘̓̒ͦ͟ ̸̰̩͓̜̻̻̙̞̉̋͋ͩa̴͉̜̬̦̫̪̒ ̭̬̝̓́͒͟l̶̙̦̜̟̦͓̝̯̀̄ạ̷͇̯͖̤ͨ̉̎̈́n̘͍̰̟͙̯̏ͬ͟d̵̦̤̙̿s̴̹̗̘͙̹̻̼͂ͬl̟̫̲̠̙͚ͨ̅͛͝i͖̮͖̙̭̖̮̓̄̈́ͯ͜d̘̭̜̤ͤ̑͗͞e̢͉̼͓͔͓ͫ̓̉̽!“  
  
  
  
V jolted awake, night welcoming him with a profound silence. It was so deep and dense he could feel his own panting twisting the air.  
His green eyes contemplated the room’s woody ceiling, while he was trying to calm down. Then they lowered to watch the figure sleeping beside, hidden by the soft blankets. Everything was so quiet that reality almost seemed surreal, compared to his memory. No one was chasing him, no one wanted him dead. There were no vivid nightmares to run away from.  
Instead, he had a person at his side this time, a person that truly cherished him. Even after all the time they spent together, sometimes V had still doubts about their presence being real. In those moments he had to touch them to be sure they were made of living flesh and muscle. The warmth of their skin did almost always reassure him.  
However, that night the young man didn’t search for his partner's presence. He got up shaking his head a bit, rubbing his temples – he did not welcome the light headache growing in response.  
  
V reached for a glass of water once in the bathroom, without turning the light on. The moon was enough for him to see a bit of the room.  
He guzzled all of the fresh liquid with a sigh, catching a glance of himself at the mirror while pouring down the glass. Black hair, snowy skin. Everything was normal and he felt a bit stupid for checking. But his new life was strange, he always felt like he was … incomplete. And indeed he was.  
Urizen had died long before, he didn’t even remember when precisely. But V was still V, Vitale. A named he didn’t recognize as his.  
  
  
  
  
B̙̺̻̺͈͆̈́̽͛͝r͙̜̫̮̉̚̕͠ǫ̟̗̍̌͒t̜͔̬̐͋͡h̡̠͚͒͒̍̕͢è̗̥̯̿͞ͅȓ̥͎̳̘̀̊͘s͖ ̰͔͍̩̅̍̂į̢̘̑͛̍̃͑͢͢n̯͚͔̅͛͠ ̩͖̝͙͈̌̍̽̓͠t̞͕͚͎̩̄͑͐̓̚h̨̬̬̟̉͌̇̓ë̩͕̇ ̡̼̝̍͋̚d̅͜ark̡̲̳̫̍̊̔̽̀͢,̨͇̕͞ ̧̟̰̥͙̏̅͒͒̆f̮͉̞͒̆͝i̢̛͚͉̞͑̌̒͘͢ght̹̅ ̦͇͗̂f̟͒õ̢̜̞͗̅r̟͠ ̗͔̦̒̒̈́y̢̢͌͞ǒ͇u̥̻̳͎͗̍͆͘͢͡r̗͐ ̱̞͎̼́̋̔̓l͕̭̗̾͞͠ī̡̥̺͎̅́͘̚ͅf̧̽ẹ̝̮̔͐̎!̨̛͖̎̔͟ ̞̩̞̳̓͘̕͝  
D̛͉͈͖̂̽͑͢ë͜v̙̖̻̌̏̿i̼̕ḽ̪͔̬͛̉̈́̍̚͜s̡̛̙ ̨̺͚͑̍͋i̯̍n̻̙̘̈͊͐ ̡̡͇̔͂̚t͙̰̃ḥ̬̈́e͙͒ ̢̙̤̮͋͠͡ḓ̟̉̇̈́̓͢ͅa̺̩͑̚͘͢r͖̩͍̦̆̎͛́k̻̪̂͠ ̷̧̨͖̬̠͕̙͍̥̇̑͆̽f̷̢̧̢̛̰̝̣̟͕̝̲̭͍͉̗̈́̿̅̾̽͂̒i̴̺͋͛̓̾̍̎͊͑̓̿̈ͅĝ̴̢̛͖̖͙̑̎̒̉͊̓̑̑̋̃̊̄̚ḥ̴̨͎͈̗̭̥͖̼̥̲̦̩̳̂͐͒̈̿̓́̂͋͐͝͝t̷̨̡̛͇̰̰̺̞̖͚̔͑̏̆̅͒ ̴̨̛̟̯̯̞̰͍̫̬̥̄̈́̽̽̋͛̌͒͑̀̊̿̏̉f̶̱̏̌̊͐̈́̕ǫ̴̛̣̥̫͊̄̅͐̔̾͊͂͜r̷͉̘̱̩̗̙̰̥͎͈̪̭̈́͐̃ ̴̠͈̙͗̏͂̎̈́͑͝͠ỷ̷̧͙͚̮̝̲̾̑̓̎͐͐͒͆͂̇̓̅̚o̵̯͕̱͇͉̐͂̐̚͝ư̷̛̯̯̱̐̀̾̋͛ŗ̶̲̺̹͖̮͎̯̫̭̤̝͉̊̉̃͂̉̽̓͜ͅ ̵̻̪̝̄̅̓̌͌̈́̓́̎̒͂̅ḽ̸̨̺̉́͌̿̃̏̿͑̇̈́͋i̴̢̤͍̖̱͓͕̝̺̪͇̥̭͈͒͛͋̔̋̈́̒̊͋̍̀͜f̸̧͙̙̠͖̺̳̣̭̝̮͉̒̒̅̅͗͐̊͠ę̵̣̹͕̳̲̗̭̺̫̀̈́̈̓͑̿̈́̾̊͑̒̓̇͘!̵̛͈̙̝̑

̶̛̦͇̻͍͉͉͚̿̑̽̾̓̃̏̈́͑͝F̸̢͊͒́̈̐̔͆i̵̢̛̺̣̱̞͑̾͂̓̅̽͂̄̔̾̕g̶̫̰̹̟̫̩̪͇͎̘̐͝h̷̛͍̖̙͉̗̘̫̯̆̏͂̈́͌͆͌̆͝ͅt̶̢̧̤͖͍̬̬͑̽ ̴̤͓̥̋̽͐̀̽̆̾̓̋̐̒̕͘͘͜͠f̸̨͖̼̉̎̃̓͗͋̆̇o̸̲̮͖͖͒̽̽̋͘͝r̵̛̹͈͍̋̋̓̌͋̈́̓͠ ̵̢̗̟̿̋̀̄̓͊̽̈́̇̆y̸̧̙̠͇̦͚̟̱̮̞̾̒͆̂ő̴̗̳̬̗̫͍͇́̊̂͗̓̄͐̿̈͑̀̉͘͜͜͜͝u̵̘̾̄̇r̵̝̘̖͒̔̒̀ ̴̨͍̭͉̝̠͈͚̪̲̇͐̀̓̂͛͂̎̈͒̈́̀ͅl̴͚̏̈ȉ̴̡͙̳̜̬̻̠̹̿̀ͅͅf̷̧̠̪͚̜̻̈ê̸͙͖͔̟̮̝̓̀̍̇͘͝!̶̢̡̥̭͕͚̻͖̟͎̮͖̮̥̼̈́̈́̎̓͐̋̐̚͠͝ ̴͙̍̈́́͋̈́̑̓͊̋͊͝F̷̡̹̞̼̪̫̺͍̹̪̑́̔͐̆̚i̴̪̖̓̽̈́̂̋́̏̈́͋̒̏̅̕̕ǵ̷̡̡̺͕͈͔̩̱͋͋̉͆̏̎̆͂̐̂̈́̇͝ḩ̷̻̤̭͇̟̹̩̱̱̙̬͖̤̂̎́t̵̯̹͉̲̮̻̱̖̾̐̾͒̔ ̵̡̢̡̳͖̮̺͎̱͙͐̾̇̋͊͠͠f̴̧̡̡͓̝͙̟̯̟̙̦̤͊̌̒̂̌͊̈͌͗̋̄ͅờ̸͓͙͉͚̦̼̟̣͎͓͍̗̎̒̓͘͘͜͠ŕ̸̡̡̧̢̺̯͍̯͍̳̯͇̉̏̑̾̑̂͗͜ ̵̟̰͉͍̭̟̯͎͍̓̈̀͝͝ẙ̷̢̘̦͇̩̗̜̙̝͔̝̮̺̽̓̇͗̐̊͆ŏ̷̧̡͈͗̈́̇̾̆̎͘ų̶̡̗͓̲͚̔̈́̏r̴̨͚̹̠͚̪͚̬̥͎̙̳̖͇͈̆͆̈́͝ ̷͇̮̫̳̳͓̳̳͍͔̙̓̊͜͝l̷̡̩̚͘ͅi̴̧̳̗̭̙̺̼̪̗̺͖͒̍̑̆͘͜f̸̢̯̟̳̗̻͌̆͋͒̏̂̊͊̋̈́e̷̡̨̛̫̝͙͈͙͙͕̲̙̐̓͌̈́̈́͑̾̍͊̕̚͝!̷̧̡̡̛͎̪̫̜̰̳͎̝̊́̐͒̌̋̚  
  
  


  
  
V decided it was better for him to return to bed and try to turn back to sleep – he didn’t know which hour in the night it was, but surely he had to wake up early when the day would make its appearance.  
Once back under the blankets, eyes began to close naturally. It was fun seeing how he had got used to human rhythms of life. And maybe it was better like that, because in that way he would finally, maybe live a peaceful existence.  
At least … The boy of his dreams wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
S̴̱̯̥̿̔̊̅̈́̑̒̚a̴̡̢̡̛͇̣̗͔̗͎̪͖̘̍̏̏̂̆ͅv̵̥̝̞̂͗̄̕i̵̛͈̝̬̯̬̳̖̟̩͍̮͒̀́̀o̶̧̧̘̠͓̱̖̻͓̳̬̭͛̈́̿̍͐͋́͘ŗ̵͈̪̦͖͓̤̱̍!̸̡̱̰̻̺͚̞̙̘̮̈̑̈́̈́̌͘ ̵̯̺̹̣̤̑ͅḆ̶̖̯̤̪͓̐̔̇̆͑̐́͒̐̈́̽͘l̸̡̢͎̜̭͍̩̮͔̹̣̘͙͊̆͛̏̇͂̑̀̕͘͘ǫ̵̯͕̲̱̲̗͂̓͂͑̓o̷̡̼̩̠̹̝̞̙̥̱̘͚͛͆͊͘d̴͙̩̖̆͆̃̈́̾̈́̿̚͝͠ͅs̷̲̖̱͆͂͝ẗ̴̼͕͈̼̬́́̾̑̊͗̃̐̾̓͗͛̕͠͝á̴̞͘i̶̢̬̲͖͕͍̪̫̦̝̠̅̿̍̑̆̄́̐̕͠n̵̟͙͚̳͍̊͆̊̋̉͛̈́̚͝͠ͅ!̷͎̲͍̩̓̎̇̋͆͌̓̊͆̕͠ ̸͍̪̩̺̔̚H̶̛̛̞͉̮̭̼͕̖̟̪̖͐̐͑͆͜͝ë̵̻͇́͒͛͛̑̾̂͒͌̏̿͝͝l̴̞̉̇̆̌̅l̶͓̰̬͈̪͕̟̩̩̮̞̀̅̿́̂͝f̶̢̤͎̰͇̭̹͕͓̽̇̍̃̆̏̌͒̋͐̈́͐͜ͅį̶̧̛̰͈̠̣͖̎͛̈̈́̏͠r̷̨̨̢̠̙͔̝͖̖͇̞̞̠̈̂̓̃͋͂̓̉̂̊͗́̿͒́ͅe̵̳̿̑!̶̨̨͕͍͚̳̝̹͚͔̒ ̴̥̉̏͌͗̈́̈́̌̑̒̃͘Ṣ̸͇̮͎̓̂̒̚ͅh̷̨̠̳͔̦̪̲͓̬̰͌͆̍͒͂͜͜͠a̵̪̥̪̱̠̙͎̣̬̾̄͑̎̌̇̉̏̿̐͛̅͘͝ͅd̷̨̦̺̋̐̔̏͛͛̌̓͛̓̾ö̸̖͓͚̜͓̹̫̘̗͇́̽̊̇̉̔̀̿̚̕w̴̻̖̭̟͉̪͊̽̈̈́̒͌͋̈́̄͜͜͝͠͠!̴̠͈̺̱̖̖̹̖͍̣͓̥̣̰̆͛̇̾̊̽͝ͅ

̶̢̧͍͉̮͖͖̙̞͉̜̳̯̱̈́̀͂Ḩ̴̡̛̪̞̯̳̗͚̝̝̏̏̒̓̀ȩ̴̛̟̣͎̞̺͕͙̲͉̔͋͆à̷̳͍͓̬͕̟̥͇̗̻̥̆̾̏̌͌v̷̘̫͓̜̯̰̼͚͕̞̫̲̦̤̹̏̿͐̈́͐̋̓̂̎̒̏ȩ̸̻̟͖̱̲̞̜̤̼̟͖̭̟͑̈́n̸̢̩̲̻̮̙͚̱̭̈̉͛̔͊̈́̉̂̂͛͘ ̸̢̡̛̗͇̥͇̭͇̜̲̠̃͒̋͗̔̋̊̂̆̈́͝͝o̴̹̝̩̫̳̠̗̯̺̳̻̮̙͐͂͛̊̋͋͘͜͝͠n̵͕͕̘͈̞̿̐̑͋̿̆̎̔̾͐̇͘͘͝ ̷̫̹̖̰̞̠͖̗̟̗͖̀̏̐̽̔̄̐͆̚͝a̸̤̩̪̍̐̃̎ ̶̜̘̹͌̒͋̋̎̇̎̑͆̈́̊͋̕͝͝l̵̪̗͎̹̜̱̬̳̤͔͍̅̆a̷̻̲̞͎̅͒̄ň̶̪̙̩̎͌̂̈́͌̉̇̄͐̈́̐d̵̢̨̗̭̻̺̘̪̻͋͗̉͆͆̊̅̒̇̋̚͘͝s̶̛̘͎̺̪̩̯̞̭̙͉̤̞̒̍̉̈́̋͌͆̄͐̂͠͠ľ̸̠̻̭̱̂͆̓̌̌̋͛͠î̸̢̨̧͉̦̥́͊ͅḍ̴̨̲͚͍͚̙͕̩͇̔͂̽͑̉̆͆̇̒̿̈́̈́̚͜e̷̮͚̠̤͈̪̯̦̤̗̱̮̞̱̲̔̈́̍͒͊͂!̴͓͐̔͑̉̓̄


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